Hero to Zero
by toxinvictoria
Summary: Beast Boy has a secret inside of him is something dark and very hungry. Now the world better watch out because there's a new player in town. Beast Boy Dexter style, harem, multi-crossover and mature themes
1. Chapter 1 a Fallen Hero

**Hero to Zero **

**I ****don't own Teen Titans, Dexter, X-men, Bleach, Rosario+ Vampire or Percy Jackson and The Olpyians. And considering the direction my writing has taken that's probably a good thing. This story will contain a darker depiction of Beast Boy you have been warned now as my favourite poltergeist would s****ay: **_**"It's Showtime!"**_

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."

—Abraham Lincoln

"Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. 

Rorschach: Watchmen

**Chapter One : a Crossroads of Fate and Fear and Eternal Fun **

Moon. Glorious Moon. Full, Fat, Reddish moon, The night as light as day, the moonlight flooding down across the land and bringing joy, joy, joy. Bringing, too, the full-throated call of the tropical night, the soft and wild voice of the wind roaring across the hairs on my arms, the hollow wail of starlight, the teeth-grinding scream of the moonlight off the water.

All calling to the Need. Oh, the symphonic shriek of the thousand hiding voices, the Beast, the silent watcher, the cold quiet thing, the one that laughs in the dark depths of my mind. The me that is not-me, the thing that mocked and whispered and came calling with its hunger. With the Need. And the Need was very strong now, very carefully coldly coiled. Creeping cravingly cocked and ready, very strong, very much ready now- and still it waited and watched, and it made me wait and watch.

I had been waiting and watching the priest for five weeks now. The need had been prickling and teasing and prodding at me to find one, find the next, to find this priest.

But I have to be careful there was time for that ,too, time spent making sure. Not of the priest, no, I was long sure of him. Time spent to be certain that it could be done right, made neat, all the corners folded, all squared away. I could not be caught, not now.I had worked too hard, too long, to make this work for me, to protect my happy little life.

And I was having way too much fun to stop now.

This night was, The Night. This night felt different. This night it would happen, had to happen. Just as it had happened before. Just as it would happen again, and again.

And tonight it would happen to the priest.

His name was Father John Gregory. He taught music to the children at St. Anthony's Orphanage in homestead, Jump City. The children loved him. And of course he loved the children, a little too much. He had devoted a whole life to them. Learned French and Spanish. Learned there music too. All for the kids. Everything he did it was all for the kids.

**Everything.**

I watched him this night as I had watched him for so many nights now. Watchedhe paused in the orphanage doorway to talk to a young black haired girl who had followed him out. She was small, no more than eight years old and small for that. He sat on steps and talked to her for five minutes. She sate ,too, and bounced up and down. They laughed and chattered in the way only humans can. She leaned against him. He touched her hair. A nun came out and stood in the doorway, looking down at them for a moment then she spoke. Then she smiled and held out a hand.

The little girl bumped her head against the priest. Father John hugged her, stood, and kissed the girl good night. The kiss went on a tiny bit longer than was strictly necessary and my sharper than human eyes caught the way his hands _twitched_ towards her chest, wanting to tear away those annoying, covering clothes and play with the things' they concealed.

Oh yes I was going to enjoy this.

The nun seeing what she wanted to see laughed and said something to dear Father John. He said something back the nun blushed and walked the little girl inside not looking back.

Then at last Father John started towards his car. He fumbled for his keys opened his car door, got into his car. I heard the keys go in Heard the engine turn over. And then-

NOW.

I sat up in his backseat and slipped the noose around his neck. One quick, slippery twist and the coil of fishing line settled tight. He made a small ratchet of panic and that was it.

"You are mine now" I told him, and he froze as neat and perfect as if he had practiced, almost like he heard the other voice, the laughing watcher inside me.

"Do exactly as I say" I said

He rasped half a breath and glanced into his rearview mirror. My face was there, waiting for him, wrapped in the white silk mask that showed only my hungry eyes.

"Do you understand?" I asked softly wondering if he would try something. He nodded.

"Be good and you'll live longer" I told him the threat was clear try anything and you die.

We drove south for five minutes with no sound but my poor prey's ragged breathing and the silent yet all consuming laughter of the careful watcher under my green skin.

"Turn here" I said at last. He turned. He was slumped like he had been expecting this all along, waiting for it forever, which in a way I guess he had.

Fifty years ago someone had built a house away from the city. Most of it was still there. Three rooms, half a roof still left, the place was completely abandoned.

"Stop the car and turn off the motor" I told him and he did.

"Get out," we hissed.

Father John didn't move. His eyes were staring at the rearview mirror, fixed on my eyes frozen in Terror at what he could see behind them.

We yanked hard on the noose, harder than he thought he could ever live through.

We kicked the car door open and dragged him out.

"Into the house" we sang ever so softly and perhaps hearing something in our voice he started for the house and I held his leash. I lead him to the door opened it and pushed him inside. When I had been in hear last I left a battery lamp standing on the floor now in turned it on.

"Look" we commanded softly, enjoying every second. Father John slowly opened one eye.

He froze.

Time stopped for the Father.

"No" he said

"Yes" we chorused gleefully.

"Oh, no," he begged.

"_**Oh Yes"**_ We told him.

He screamed "NOOOOO"

I yanked on the noose. His scream was cut off and he fell to his knees. He made a wet croaking pathetic sound and covered his eyes. That made me angry, he had to see this, Had to, that was the part of game and wasn't looking.

"Open Your Eyes Father John" We ordered he would look he would see. "Open them" We said "Open your eyes. Open them NOW. Look" We grabbed his red hair and pulled his head back "Look. Or we'll cut your eyelids right of your face". We meant it. And so he looked.

There were seven of them, seven small little girls, seven extra dirty orphan children laid out on shower sheets. Seven straight lines pointing across the room.

Pointing at Father John.

"Hail Mary, full of grace-"he started. We jerked on his noose hard.

"Please" he choked

"_**Yes**_, beg us for mercy. That's good. Much better" We yanked again "Did they beg?" We asked already knowing the answer but wanting to see if he would say something. He didn't.

"Please" he said "I couldn't help myself. I just couldn't help myself. Please you have to understand-"

"We understand Father" We told him and there was something in our voice, the voice of Sin and Ice, which froze him. He lifted his eyes to mine and recoiled at the thing grinning at him from behind them. "We understand perfectly, You see we can't help ourselves either" We had the needle ready and it went into his neck like it was suppose to and his eyes closed.

When he awoke he would be tied to a table and we would have our fun. We peeled away the meat from his screaming frame and conducted his cries and pleas into a symphony of wonder. And when our fun was done I buried the body hid or destroyed the evidence and took of for home in the form of a albatross.

I landed on the roof of Titans Tower and silently made my way to my untidy little room. I slid under the covers and closed my eyes sleep came easy.

Tomorrow was a big day, tomorrow I would finally be able to leave the Tower with its annoying security systems and nosy friends who wouldn't leave well enough alone.

Tomorrow was the Day Beast boy left the Teen Titans and embraced the night once and for all.

**Okay I've had this idea for quite a long while now ,yes Beast boy is based on Dexter and the fun is just getting started. This story will have Beast Boy acquire a Harem who is in it is entirely up to you. There's a poll on my account for possible members. If you have any ideas review and tell me them. Seriously I need feedback and suggestions so please Review even if it's to say you hate my story. **


	2. Chapter 2 the True End

**Hero to Zero **

**I ****don't own Teen Titans, Dexter, X-men, Bleach, Warhammer 40'000 or Percy Jackson and The Olpyians. And considering the direction my writing has taken that's probably a good thing. This chapter is dedicated to everyone who review thanks**

**Warpwind: Jinx will be playing a role in this story as part of the difference from canon she never changed sides and turned on her companions instead she was defeated along with the rest of the Brotherhood of Evil. Seeing how Raven and the other girls handle having to share with her is going to be hilarious**

**Nik0laiCarpathia: Nice to hear from you again thanks for reviewing this story and I'd be more than happy to include Terra, you'll get to some of her next chapter and she will play a big part in this story later on for a lot of reasons not the least of which is seeing how she reacts to the new psychotic Beast Boy.**

**Now on with the slaughter I mean on with the story. **

All creatures want to believe in something bigger than themselves. They cannot live without blind obedience. And to escape the pressure of that trust, those in whom faith is placed in turn look for someone higher than themselves. And then those people in turn look for someone even stronger. That is how all Kings are born. That is how all Gods are born

Aizen Sosuke (Bleach)

"I'd like to share a revelation I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species. I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with their surrounding environment, but you humans do not. You move to an area, and you multiply, and you multiply, until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague, and we … are the cure"

Agent Smith (The Matrix)

"He _**is**_ a bad person. Sure, now he's just- He's just "_one of those guys_" who likes to bust on everyone. Takes his shots, gives a wedgie, dumps a bucket of something on someone... and _**every**_one laughs. Just jokes, right? He gets to say and do whatever he wants because he has a basketball jacket and a nice haircut... Because really, in this world... I guess all you _**need**_ is a nice hair cut. But here's the thing... He's going to grow up. He's going to become a man. And because _**you**_ have rewarded him for his behavior year after year after year... Because his parents don't seem to care... Because _**all**_ he knows now is that it's okay to act this way, to treat people like this... He's going to grow up to be a _**full-grown**_... Greedy, mean, selfish liar. The world is _**filled**_ with them. The world is being _**run**_ by them. And your "_friend_" is one of them. You need to learn this and learn it fast. This _**is**_ the world. This is why Gwen is dead. This is why Harry is gone. This is why half of us don't have parents anymore! Because good people don't get to be _**happy**_. And sometimes they don't get to _**live!**_ We just sit and wait for one of these evil two-faced, greedy liars to step on our heads!"

Peter Parker (Spiderman)

"I caught a glimpse of heaven once. The Angels showed me. The idea was I'd kill for them. Clean up their mistakes on Earth. Eventually redeem myself.

Tried it. Didn't like it. Told them where to stick it. So they brought me up to heaven, to see what I'd be missing. A wife. A son. A daughter. I hadn't seen them since they bled out in my arms. Then I was cast down.

Back to a world of killers. Rapists. Psychos. Perverts. A brand new evil every minute, spewed out as fast as men can think them up. A world where pitching a criminal dwarf off a skyscraper to tell his fellow scum you're back is a sane and rational act. The angels thought it would be hell for me.

But they were **wrong**."

Frank Castle (The Punisher)

**Chapter 2 : Reunions of Light and Demons of the Dark part 1 **

I watch as the city burned. Flames so very hot and bright burned high and low whispering such sweat things to the monsters like me who could hear, spreading their flickering light around the pallid boring world. The dark smoke coiled lazily through the air, blotting out the blue sky with its dark veils. And all of it stank of darkness and destruction.

And death.

The streets of the city are filled with smoldering wreckage, ashes and charred wood scattered over the cobblestones. The buildings of this fine old city were aflame; all that was wood in their structures was quickly being devoured, leaving metal skeletons in their wake, their scorched metal blackened and twisted from the intense heat. There were bodies everywhere: men, women and children all equal in death,

I couldn't help but shiver in delight at the scene that lies before me. So many people…killed so quickly…I doubt that even in my wildest dreams I could equal how perfectly the one responsible for this has planned it all out. Not that this was my style for me I enjoy taking my time savoring all the little emotions. That's why I prey on those like me those who can't help themselves, Because they know, they know it's pointless to beg for mercy because they understand, they know the All consuming Need and they know there staring death in the face when they look at me. The utter terror on ther faces is well there really aren't words which can describe how good it feels to take a life. The Power of Death is intoxicating.

But Damm all that nice, red, cool and sticky blood wasted in this cursed heat. Whoever was responsible for this interesting work of art was awful greedy. No one left for me to play with not that I needed to as the good Father John's screams and delicious agonies had satisfied the Need, for now at least.

Something about this place was familiar but I cannot on my twisted and empty excuse for a soul recall what it is about this city which was so maddeningly familiar.

Death and Fire ruled this broken city.

Wait movement, a person a living breathing person other than me was walking this desolate inferno. A very familiar person, Me yet not me, green skin, pointy ears too big smile (well okay lacking in the smiles department but you can take it from me that faced looked like it smiled a lot) this was the old me the me who's smiles were genuine and who didn't walk the path of Moonlight and razor blade.

**Do you see it, boy?**

A Hideously loud voice, a voice that etched itself with acid into my mind. I knew now what I was seeing this is where I was created. The voice of Fire and Damnation held no terror for me not now not after what I have done . The old me hower fell to his knees in the middle of the city, screaming in sudden pain. I remember this, the pain it filled my mind and body, setting the whole of my foolish being aflame. Agony filled had me with incredible strength, and all thought was driven away in the force of its coming.

The Old weak human me burned.

**Do you feel it?**

He writhed on the ground, his body twisting and convulsing in his agony. Then he heard the screams. As if echoed by his own cries, the sounds of horror assaulted his ears, terrified shrieks of the dying and the dead. He heard defiant shouts and pain-filled cries and death rattles. He heard the death of thousands, of tens of thousands.

**Do you hear it?**

He cried out into the darkness, shrieking out his pain and horror.

**Does it hurt, boy?**

The pain intensified, until it was almost too much to bear.

**DOES IT HURT, BOY?**

Then, abruptly, it was gone.

**Good. **

He lay in the midst of the burning city, gasping in the smoky air.

**Can you hear me, boy?**

He could barely hear the voice, harsh and brutal though it seemed to him. It tore through him with each word, as if ripping him apart from the inside. But he could hear it.

**Can you see me?**

In the smoke above the city, something moved. He felt cold eyes upon him, flaring red through the black smog. Was it the flames that gave it that crimson flare, that unholy glow? But he could see it.

**Can you feel my loss?**

He felt something seize him by the neck, lifting him from the ground where he lay. Then, as one would fling away a piece of trash, he was tossed aside. He fell to the ground some thirty feet away, feeling a white hot pain flare through his arm as he landed on it. It was broken, he knew it. But he had felt it.

**CAN YOU FEEL MY PAIN?**

Fire fell from the sky, covering him in its crimson glow. It burned the skin from his flesh, boiled away his blood, incinerated his ashes, and left nothing but scorched bones behind. Or so it felt. His mind was filled with an unimaginable agony, suffering that seemed to tear his soul asunder. He felt its pain. He felt...

**GIVE IT BACK TO ME!**

It was like someone had stabbed my brain with white-hot needles, like hooks were being driven into my mind and pulled on by long chains, a monstrous hand was violating my innermost thoughts and dragging out memories, fears, doubts and nightmares from some forgotten throwback of a corner of my ever so addled brain, thoughts and feelings that should never have troubled my conscious self. The old me lost his fragile sanity in that moment, the ego shattering into a million pieces leaving the dark tidal wave to rise up and crush and kill.

The monster was free from its long forgotten cage in my old self's soul and boy was it hungry.

It was intoxicating, that first moments of realization- that I would never have to worry about abstract concepts like faith, loyalty, society; that in the end, it all boiled down to who was strongest. Life, when you got down to it, was simple. I had taken the first steps to realizing this long ago, when a much younger version of me had come to the absurdly obvious realization that the rule of Law was just doing what a group of long-dead men had decided was right. Once I'd seen that, it had been absurdly easy to decide to defy those pieces of paper, to defy the opinions of dead men who had never _envisioned_ a world like mine-

Then just as I was reliving the bliss of being freed from the stupidity of morality, the scene changed the cliché but still amusing city of flames and screaming voices is replaced with something utterly repelling; Another me not the smiling goofy idiot who under Trigon's burning touch had transformed into me no what I was looking at now was that sniveling weakling from so very long ago: Garfield mark Logan

By the age of three, Garfield could do many things that most three-year-olds couldn't do. He could read and write, and he could talk almost as well as grown-ups could. It helped that nobody had ever really talked to him like he was a child, or treated him like one, either. He didn't have a lot of toys or games or picture books; just Mother's things from when she was little, like the rabbit. It had soft gray fur, shiny black eyes, floppy ears, and a green ribbon around its neck. It was his favorite and he took it with him everywhere because it was the only thing that Mother had ever given him, and she had given it to him because he had been crying and she didn't like it when he did that, and so after yelling "_Why _can't you ever _be quiet!_" at him, she had taken her rabbit from her bed and thrown it at him, and she had never taken it back, so now it was his.

He also knew that he wasn't treated like a child because, whenever he and Mother and Grandmother would go to church, Garfield would hear the other kids using words like 'horsey' and 'doggy' and 'blankie' and 'Mommy' but he wasn't allowed to say things like that. It always had to be 'horse,' 'dog,' 'blanket,' and especially 'Mother,' never 'Mommy.' She didn't like it when he called her 'Mommy,' though Garfield didn't know why. When he had asked his Grandmother after she had slapped him for saying 'duckie,' she had told him that words like that were for silly children.

Not that little boy pathetic Garfield really knew what other children were like. He only ever saw them at church, since Mother and Grandmother wouldn't let him play with anyone. He didn't mind a lot because he liked reading and coloring the most and he liked to do those things by himself, but sometimes he got bored. And lonely. And Mother and Grandmother both said that they didn't like to play with him, so he made up people in his head and played with them instead. It had been nice for a while, having someone who liked to talk to him, but then Mother had heard him in his room, by himself, talking to no one, and she had gotten very mad and yelled at him and told him that only crazy people did what he had been doing and that if she ever, _ever_ caught him doing that again, she would send him away to some place called a madhouse where he would be locked up in the dark with lots of bad, crazy people and he would never be allowed to see her again.

That would have been the worst thing imaginable for him, for me the madhouse would probably be the only place I'd be able to have a pleasant conversation on the finer points of human dissection and all the wonders of inflicting suffering.

The foolish little idiot Garfield actually loved his mother very much and didn't want to be taken away from her. When she told him that he would be removed if he kept talking to himself, he had started to cry, running forward to hug her legs, forgetting that she didn't like crying or being touched. Mother hadn't been happy about that and she had quickly shoved him away, but he hadn't really noticed since he had been too busy promising that he would never, ever, ever talk to people who weren't there again.

Sometimes I dream of tearing that intollerant piece of filth apart slowly and the thoughts of her screams are the sweetest lulably I can imagine. But enough of my happy thoughts we were discussing Garefield and his promise to not to speak to his imaginary friends. Despite his crippling loneliness he truly meant to keep his promise

But sometimes it was hard to keep his promise. Like whenever he made Mother mad and he didn't know why and she would send him to bed without dinner and he would be awake for a long time because his stomach hurt so much because he hadn't had breakfast or lunch either, or when he said his Hail Marys wrong and Grandmother would paddle him before locking him in the cold, dark root cellar with the dirt floor and no windows and…_things_ that made noises that sounded in the dark to be whispering promises of pain, but he didn't know what they truly were. He wanted someone to come and talk to him, but no one ever did, and so he thought about talking to the people he had made up, even though he had promised Mother he wouldn't do that anymore. But was it still bad if he kept the talking in his head and didn't say anything out loud? Garfield wasn't sure. It didn't _seem _like it would be as bad, because nobody would know about it except him. And sometimes he talked in his head to himself and he didn't even know it at first. Was that still his fault? Was it so bad? He didn't think so, as long as no one else knew. He had to keep it a secret, or else Mother would send him away.

The madhouse was _scary_—the scariest thing in the world to Garfield, after Grandmother. Mother had said that it was where they put little boys who behaved badly, like he always did. But he _tried _to be good, he really did. He didn't run in the house or make a lot of noise, and he always put all of his things away and made his bed in the morning. But he always seemed to do bad things, even though he didn't mean to. Like when one of the children in Sunday school, a big kid named Bo Griggs, had given him a mean look and told him that his parents said that dear little Garfield was a bastard and that his mother was a whore. (the boy was perfectly right of course) Garfield had been called a bastard before, sometimes by Mother and sometimes by Grandmother, and though he didn't know what it meant, he didn't think that it could be anything nice. But he had never heard of a whore and when he asked Grandmother what it was, she had slapped him hard across the face and then made him eat a whole bar of soap, which had made him sick for three days. And he still didn't know what a whore was, but he _did _know better than to ask.

The worst was when he made Mother cry. Garfield never meant to do that, and he always tried his best not to, but sometimes it just happened and he wouldn't even know why. Once, as he was leaving Sunday school to find Mother and Grandmother, one of the other kids' fathers had come up to him and, laughing and smiling, said, "So, boy, is your father coming to pick you up today? Where is he? For that matter, _who _is he?" and then the man had laughed as if that was the funniest thing in the world.

Garfield had stood there, unsure and confused as he looked up at the rest of the grown-ups. Some were laughing like the man, some frowned at him like he had done something wrong, and others shook their heads and looked sad. It had made him mad. He _hated _not knowing the answer to a question.

After that, he had run off to find Mother and Grandmother, and ask what that man was talking about, why were those people laughing at him, and why didn't he know who his father was? Mother always told him that he asked too many questions, so he mostly tried to find the answers on his own, but this time he couldn't help it. He ran up to Mother, tugged on her skirt, and asked:

"Mother, who's my father? Why do the other kids have one and I don't?"

Mother's flabby face had turned as pink as some of Starfire's clothing and she looked around like she was scared, but then she looked down at ever so innocent Garfield like she wanted to hit him again and again. He had never seen Mother look so mad before, but he didn't think that she would hit him—Grandmother always did that; Mother didn't like to touch anyone, but she didn't like touching him the most. It was because he was dirty—that was what she always said, "Stop crying, Garfield, you dirty little bastard!" or "You filthy brat, what have I told you about asking questions?" He _didn't _like taking a bath, but he always tried to keep clean. And the only reason he didn't like baths was because Grandmother would always hold him under if she thought that he was taking too long and scream about how wasteful he was. But it never seemed to matter how clean he was, because Mother still thought that he was dirty. And that was what she had said that day, too, when he had asked about his father.

"You _dirty_, dis_gust_ing little monster," she whispered, her voice full of hatetred utter loathing that I have never seen the like of since. Then she had tears in her eyes.

Garfield stumbled back, confused.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—the man, he asked me—" He looked around, but couldn't find the man who had gotten him to ask such a terrible question. His eyes burned and he knew that he was starting to cry, too. "I'm sorry, Mommy, please don't be mad—"

"_Don't _call me that, you awful, _awful_…"

Mother had never finished because she turned away and took off for home. Garfield was still crying when he felt one of Grandmother's hands, which he always thought looked more like claws, seize his wrist. She put her face very close to his and he started to shake.

"Don't you dare make a scene, boy."

He had nodded quickly and she pulled him along, talking about how he must never, _ever _ask such a question again and how there wasn't an appropriate enough punishment for something so awful, and how she couldn't think of how he could have hurt his mother more.

When they got home, Grandmother had told him to go to his room until she could figure out what she called 'what proper disciplinary actions to take.' She was the scariest, most horrible woman in the world, so Garfield almost always did what she said, but not that time. He _almost _did, really. He went upstairs and was on his way to his bedroom, but he had to pass his mother's room to get there, and her door had been open, so he hadn't been able to help looking in, and when he saw that she was asleep and not crying anymore, well…he wasn't really sure what had made him do it. It was just that…well…he really wanted to.

Mothers were supposed to take care of their children and love them no matter what; that was how it always was in the books that Garfield read. The kids could do the most horrible things, but, in the end, their mothers still loved them. So, he thought that it must have had something to do with him. Something was wrong with him—Grandmother and Mother always said that he was a bastard, the Devil's child(which I find highly amusing since I know the Devil's literal daughter and I'm pretty sure we aren't related).

He had decided to prove to Mother that he never meant to do anything bad, even if he was the son of the Devil, like Grandmother said. And that was what had been going through his head when he had looked in his mother's room and seen her sleeping on her bed, her face still wet with tears. He thought that if Mother woke up and he was there, and she saw that nothing bad had happened, maybe then she might like him better. Maybe? A little bit?

That might have been what he was thinking, but he wasn't sure because he had suddenly felt so sleepy after seeing Mother like that, he couldn't remember much of anything except sneaking into the room and standing next to the bed. Mother had been asleep on her back with her right arm over her chest and the other arm stretched out beside her. Garfield had never really liked fairy tale books, but he thought that his mother looked kind of like a princess like that, asleep with her yellow hair all spread out over the pillows. He couldn't help climbing onto the bed and curling up next to her. He closed his eyes and thought that Mother might have put her arm around him in her sleep. He wasn't sure, though. He might have dreamt it.

The next thing he remembered was lots of screaming. At first he had thought that he was having a nightmare because he almost always had nightmares ever since he was little. But the bed kept moving and he wasn't the one screaming, and it was more like yelling a lot of angry words, Garfield wasn't sure…

"What are you doing in here! Get out! Get off! _Go!_"

He had opened his eyes and seen Mother's angry face just before he had been pushed off the bed. And none of the rooms in the house had carpeting, so it had hurt even more when he had landed on his side and knocked his head against the floor.

Mother was still yelling at him, but Garfield couldn't really hear her. Everything sounded far away and the room kept moving. He tried to remember how he had gotten there…something about not making Mother angry anymore, but it had gone all wrong, and now his head hurt and so did his arm and his leg, too, and Mother was _still _yelling at him.

"How dare you sneak in here! Go to your room!"

He tried to stand, but there was too much pain in is leg, even though later he would find out that it was just a lot of bruising.

"What is _wrong _with you!" Mother had shouted. "I told you to get out!"

"Mommy…" he gasped, tears sliding down his cheeks.

"What have I told you about calling me that? You're not a baby anymore, Garfield—stop acting so childish—"

"But Mommy that _hurt_…" he cried before he could stop himself.

Mother looked angry, maybe even angrier than when he had asked her who his father was. He had started to shake and cried even harder, unsure of what to do.

"If you aren't in your room by the count of three," Mother had warned him, "I'm going to send your grandmother after you. Is that what you want?"

Garfield shook his head quickly. Mother nodded and began counting.

"One…"

His whole right side hurt, but Grandmother's punishments were worse so much worse, so he had gotten to his feet and hurried out the door as fast as he could.

"Two…"

He had been able to see Grandmother coming up the stairs with her cane, and his leg had almost made him fall down when he had started to run away from her.

"Three!"

He dashed into his room just in time, slamming the door shut and locking it even though he wasn't supposed to do that. He didn't care anymore; he was scared. Mother was mad at him and Grandmother was too, even though he hadn't _meant _to do anything wrong; he'd just wanted to know who his father was…

He had started to hiccup, just like he always did whenever he'd been crying for too long, and he had wrapped his arms around himself, rocking slightly and looking around his room for help.

A knock at the door had made him jump, and then he had heard Grandmother's voice telling him to come out and explain himself and…he couldn't, he just _couldn't_. Grandmother was always so scary, especially when she was mad, and he knew that she had her cane with her and that never meant anything good, and he was shaking so badly, he knew that he couldn't go out and see her, not when he was so afraid of what she might do…

Garfield had looked around his room again, still rocking himself because it made him feel a little better and because no one else would. And just as Grandmother's knocking got even louder, he saw his stuffed rabbit sitting on his bed. He ran over and grabbed it just as Grandmother started rattling the doorknob. The loud, creepy noise had made his shaking even worse and he still had the hiccups as he dove underneath his bed and pushed himself toward the upper right corner where his nightstand sat next to the bed. That way, he was as far away from the door as he could possibly be and having the nightstand against his back might protect him. From what, he hadn't been sure and he hadn't wanted to know.

The doorknob rattled again as the pounding grew even louder.

"I mean it, boy, if you don't unlock this door this _in_stant, so help me…"

Grandmother's threat had made him shiver and curl himself up into a tight little ball. It had hurt, trying not to sob, and he had hidden his face behind his toy rabbit as more tears fell and made its fur all wet.

How much of what a human being sees is true? How closely does the perception of the world within our heads correlate with what exists externally? Is there, in fact, an external reality; is life naught but a dream and all the other entities we believe we perceive are but dancing puppets? And if one were to continue the metaphor, that line of speculation, who would be the puppet masters? Some part of the self who the conscious being is not aware of; a part who a skeptic might point out resembles an empirical, external reality? Some demiurge; a god that lies to all senses in the name of power? Who knew?

I knew, as I watched the shadows of the past rise and recreated, themselves long buried memories given form I knew THIS WASN'T REAL, this was just a dream and it was long past time I woke up.

That little boy who wanted so desperately to be loved by his mother was dead and gone devoured by the dark.

The mother who had rejected him and blamed him for ruining her life was dead and gone destroyed by the monster her hatred had given birth to.

Garfield Mark Logan was gone and never coming back

And I could bring myself to care.

I woke up, screaming of course. What an excellent way to start the rest of my life

Upon waking I realized it was 7:00 in the morning. Robin and maybe Raven would be up but not the rest of the merry little group of misfits called the teen titans who had been the closet thing I ever really had to family. Today was the day I left them permanently.

It wasn't that I bore them any great malice. It was the simple truth that if I wanted to continue the path I had chosen for myself (and I did) then I would need to do it somewhere else the Titans for all that we had been through together would never tolerate my fun so I had to find somewhere fresh.

Most of the arrangements had already been made. A little cloak and dagger work and I had a nice little underground base in a city far enough away from the titans that they wouldn't present a problem. Most of my meager belongings had already been shipped over.

Now to get this over with I could find Robin tell him that I wanted to make my own way in the world and be out of this Tower before breakfast but there were still a few lose ends to tie up and this world had taught me the value of patience if nothing else.

So with speed born of practice I fished out my costume from under the bed. Not my old purple and black uniform no this was what I wore when the Need rose within me crying out for the sweat release of suffering. Or when like now I wanted to talk to a shady character and didn't want my somewhat recognizable face seen.

The get up composed a horizontally striped red and black sweater with a High collared black trench coat on each of the shoulders was the image of a serpent eating its own tail. My normal grey gloves were replaced with white ones: on the back of each was a pentagram or five pointed star a symbol of Old magic (which generally involved death) the star with its five points symbolizing the elements fire, water, earth, air and spirit were contained within a circle of ancient runes mostly borrowed from a number of Ravens books. The Gloves were for more than just show those runes who glow in the presense of Strong magic which would tell me it was time to in the words of King Arthur (from Monty Python and the Holy Grail) "Run Away,"

And Finally the Mask: made of white silk much like the one I had worn during my session with Father John only it appeared to cover my eyes. Yet at the same time I could see perfectly.

Judging I still had a few hours before Cyborg tried to wake my for the usual tofu vs meat argument. I dived out the widow enjoying the feeling of the wind on my face before shifting into the form of a Hawk and gliding towards the city.

**Hello everyone sorry for taking so long to update okay so next chapter the new and improved Beast Boy is going to run (literally) into Terra and will see some action and his leaving of the Titans. Review please I need feedback to improve. As**


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